From idle words, that restless throng
And haunt our hearts when we would
pray,
From Pride’s false chime, and jarring wrong,
Seal Thou my lips, and guard the
way:
For Thou hast sworn, that every ear,
Willing or loth, Thy trump shall hear,
And every tongue unchained be
To own no hope, no God, but Thee.

THIRTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY

And He turned Him onto His disciples, and said privately,
Blessed are the eyes which see the things that ye
see: for I tell you, that many prophets and
kings have desired to see those things which ye see,
and have not seen them: and to hear those things
which ye hear, and have not heard them. St.
Luke x. 23, 24.

On Sinai’s top, in prayer and trance,
Full forty nights and forty days
The Prophet watched for one dear glance
Of thee and of Thy ways:

Fasting he watched and all alone,
Wrapt in a still, dark, solid cloud,
The curtain of the Holy One
Drawn round him like a shroud:

So, separate from the world, his breast
Might duly take and strongly keep
The print of Heaven, to be expressed
Ere long on Sion’s steep.

There one by one his spirit saw
Of things divine the shadows bright,
The pageant of God’s perfect law;
Yet felt not full delight.

Through gold and gems, a dazzling maze,
From veil to veil the vision led,
And ended, where unearthly rays
From o’er the ark were shed.

Yet not that gorgeous place, nor aught
Of human or angelic frame,
Could half appease his craving thought;
The void was still the same.